


Only Whistling

by DefinitelyBroken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Drabble, Established Relationship, How Do I Tag, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyBroken/pseuds/DefinitelyBroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does the whistle sound when the whistler is convulsing in orgasm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Whistling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I thought I'd make a gift to you, too! It's not as good as yours, but I must return the favour.
> 
> Oh and yes, I'm officially a fucked up person.

A whistle is an instrument which produces sound from a stream of forced air. The harder you exhale, the louder is the sound. The faster you breathe, the faster it does, obviously.

Iker had always wondered how would a whistle sound in the mouth of a man who’s being fucked. And how would this man whistle in orgasmic spasms?

At first it was just a funny thought—but later Casillas couldn’t sleep because of it. He wanted to try it so badly, to _hear_ it so badly.

That is why, walking to Sergio’s, he wasn’t even considering a rejection; he’s hell of a convincing fellow.

Having entered Ramos’ condo, Casillas saw the defender in the kitchen; he was cooking feverishly. Iker walked behind his back and started biting his neck slightly, not caring about protestant moans.

“Piss off, Casillas, you’re distracting me,” Sergio muttered, chuckling.

“I want you so bad, you can’t fucking imagine,” Iker whispered hotly, hands wandering under Ramos’ T-shirt.

“Not now.”

“Yes, now. I want you now.” Casillas knew it was a sucker punch but who cared? He shoved a hand in Sergio’s shorts and squeezed his cock through boxers fabric, making the defender curve and clasp the frying pan’s handle.

“God damn you, provoker,” Sergio groaned, turning round and kissing Iker. Casillas smiled against his lips, turned the cooker off and pulled Sergio close.

“Want you right here,” Iker whispered between kisses, “on the table.”

“But it’s—”

“Shut up.” Casillas bit at Sergio’s lower lip, pulling it a little. He kneaded his hips mercilessly, savouring sweet moans. Sese stuck his fingers into the goalkeeper’s shoulders, not able to stand. Casillas turned Ramos to see his back and bent him over the tabletop, pulling down his shorts and boxers roughly, lifting his leg on the table and lying on the muscled body. “I want,” he whispered, biting Sergio’s earlobe, “I want you to hold this in your teeth.” The captain brought a simple metal whistle to the defender’s reddened lips.

“Eh?” The fever stepped aside for a second; he needed to know what was in Iker’s stupid head again.

“The whistle; I wanna hear moans and whistling at once,” he muttered, kissing the tattoo. Ramos nodded, taking the instrument in his mouth. Variety is nice, right?

Not in a very comfortable pose, Sergio had to grab the table’s edges so not to fall down. Meanwhile, Iker was caressing the defender’s ass cheeks, slapping them lightly, hearing quiet and shaky whistling. When Casillas touched Ramos’ tight hole with the tip of his hot tongue, the sound grew louder, more intense.

The goalkeeper fucked Ramos with his tongue ecstatically, his cock twitched with every whistle; Ramos grasped the edge of the table forcefully, screwing up his eyes, he was pining from desire, he wanted Iker to take him _now,_ without hesitation.

Iker tormented Sergio for a couple more minutes, and, having his cock smeared hastily, pushed inside him roughly; a loud, high scream mixed with whistling erupted from Sergio’s mouth. Iker pulled out fully and slammed back, again and again and again, listening to Sergio’s half screams, half whistles. Ramos, not able to breathe in, spit out the little thing, moaning explicitly, “Yes—oh god—yes—”

Iker didn’t like that, so, when his cock was completely inside, he stopped, enjoying his lover’s fast, shaky breathing, and had Sergio’s arms behind his back. Ramos wasn’t fighting; like a lifeless puppet he was lying still, trying to abstract away from the sensations, his toes clenching and unclenching. In the next second he felt the whistle touching his lips, took it obediently; he exhaled sharply when Casillas pulled out—and pushed back inside with all force, hitting the prostate.

The goalkeeper let go of Sergio’s arms, leaning closer to kiss him. Ramos grasped at the table even harder, his voice going strain. Even through long whistles his groans could be heard. Sergio was twining, drawing back and forth, the whistle always in the mouth, the heavy breathing always in the air.

Those sounds were driving Casillas crazy. He pulled out, turned Ramos on his back and pressed his hands against his chest, the strong legs on the goalkeeper’s shoulders. There was only whistling in the whole universe at that moment; when Sergio was filled with Iker’s cock again, he started jerking himself off fiercely, trying to catch the rhythm. Not to tumble down. And not to forget how to breathe.

When orgasm swooshed through Ramos’ body, the whistling god knows how became even louder. It exploded. Casillas’ eyes rolled while he was coming inside Sergio, wondering if he gone deaf or not.

The whistle fell on the floor, and the whistler started coughing hard, Casillas’ heavy body on him. “That was—”

“—loud,” the captain finished.

“You sure you’ll react normally to a head judge’s whistling?” Sergio asked with a nervous smile.

“I’ll remember your orgasm face.” Iker kissed him briefly, pulling out.

“Yeah, imagine what I’ll be thinking about,” Ramos murmured dreamily.


End file.
